Across the divide

Gray-brown slush sloshed over the top of my boots.  Nate and three heavy shopping bags hung precariously from my right arm as I dug in my pockets for the keys to my dilapidated minivan.  It has hit the fence on the way in and out of our driveway too many times to call it "used" any more.  Nate wore only a sweater because I hate dealing with his coat when we dash in and out of stores on errands.  His adorable blue boots - hand-me-downs that have made it through all three boys - slipped down and dangled dangerously over the sludge, revealing that he wore no socks inside the fuzzy lining.  He smeared his runny-nose snot across the shoulder of my new chocolate brown coat as he turned his head from side to side to see the activity of the busy parking lot.

I saw her as we entered our row, about half way down on the left, carefully placing the frame of a gorgeous travel system so that it sat in as little slush as possible.  I probably noticed because the fabric pattern was an appealing chocolate brown and blue.  I love chocolate brown.  I chose it for all my babies.  A perfectly matched deep brown diaper bag sat in the basket below the stroller and another bag, in a lovely coordinating pattern, hung from the handle.  Her mother, the older woman looked too much like her to be anyone else, helped her carefully arrange everything before the cargo for whom all of this preparation was done was lifted from the car.

A newborn, I thought.  Her first.  I peeked on my way by and saw the tiny weeks-old face snuggled beneath a car seat cozy that complimented the carrier that matched the travel system.  I remember that, I thought.  I remember how each thing purchased had to be perfect regardless of cost.  I remember those first tentative outings that required an assistant and a timetable.  I remember being her.

Was it only five years ago? Is that possible? Should I smile or cry at the way I now schlep four kids to Costco at 4:00 p.m., assistantless, fearless, diaperbagless, snackless, counting on the snack grannies and really good off-brand diapers to get us through.  We haven't bought a big baby item new in three years and two babies.  Should I wince at the peanut butter snot mixture on my kids' faces?  The mismatched clothes because they surprised me and dressed themselves? I do feel a pang for the borrowed utilitarian blue carrier that Nate rode about in for the first six months of his life. It was great and we were thrilled not to buy one, but I do so love chocolate brown.

We wouldn't be friends, she and I.  Not because I think she's a snob or I wasn't there once or I can't understand.  Not because she would judge me or my van or my makeupless face.  Because the gulf between us is hard to bridge without a past relationship to nudge it along. Because it's been so long - not in calendar-years, but in experience-years, since I worried about nursing or sleep patterns or whether anything matched that still worked.  My chaos would overwhelm her.  Her first time need to do everything 'right' would wear on me the way fashion magazines wear on your self esteem. 

I glanced at her in the parking lot across the yawning ravine and I remembered being on her side with tears in my eyes.  But I'm not sorry to have made it across.  That rope bridge is a bitch.